


Bodies Fall Slowly on Pillows of Blood

by rubychan05



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Betrayal, False Identity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Porthos meets a charismatic new companion one week and encounters a deadly assassin the next. It doesn’t occur to him that the two might be linked.</p>
<p>Canon divergence after the massacre at Savoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodies Fall Slowly on Pillows of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've had this rattling around my head ever since I saw isloremipsumafterall's Winter Soldier GIF sets [1](http://isloremipsumafterall.tumblr.com/post/84027932286/aramis-is-wracked-with-guilt-at-seeing-his-best) [2](http://isloremipsumafterall.tumblr.com/post/84214912587/x-theres-no-focus-in-him-hes-gazing-into) [3](http://isloremipsumafterall.tumblr.com/post/84471802979/x-his-breathe-catches-as-he-says-porthos-name) [4](http://isloremipsumafterall.tumblr.com/post/84722171775/portamis-winter-soldier-redux-he-doesnt-believe). And because I'm procrastinating instead of writing my Musketeers Big Bang entry, I ended up starting this fic instead. Oops.

Porthos can't remember the last time it rained this hard. Even with his collar up, and his hat firmly on, he can feel the rain hammering down onto him and sliding its way down his neck.

Not the way he wanted to spend his evening.

On the opposite side of the street, half-hidden behind a stack of barrels, D'Artagnan stares mournfully back at him, looking like nothing more than a drowned rat. Athos is faring little better under the questionable cover of the inn's doorway: a gust of wind had blown his hat into a puddle mere minutes into their stakeout, much to his displeasure. Having elected not to restore the sodden thing to his head, Athos has been braving the rain for nearly an hour now, leaving both his hair and beard plastered to his head. It's not a good look for the musketeer.

By the time their target saunters out of the inn, Porthos is beginning to consider a change of career. Shoemaking, perhaps. Can't do shoemaking in the rain.

Less opportunity to wrestle people to the ground though. Be a shame to give that up.

"Porthos..." Athos sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walks across to where Porthos has the target pinned to the ground. "The whole reason behind waiting outside for Dufort was to _avoid making a scene_."

Porthos scowls up at him.

"I am sick and tired of the rain, Athos. Let's just get him back to the garrison; the quicker we get him back, the quicker we can get out of this godforsaken weather."

Athos purses his lips, clearly wanting to press the issue, but the rain has worn him down and he gives in without a fight. It is likely, Porthos muses as he throws Dufort across his shoulders, that Athos has noticed how blue the young Gascon's lips are; he certainly keeps a watchful eye on their youngest member as they trudge back through the streets of Paris. By the time they reach the garrison, D'Artagnan is shivering uncontrollably and Athos is hovering at his shoulder like a mother hen.

Somehow, Porthos doubts that Athos will be allowing Treville to send them out into weather like this anytime soon.

The briefing with Treville is quick and painless, the captain clearly well aware of how much the trio are itching to get out of their wet clothes. He takes just enough detail to enable him to write a bare boned report for the king, then dismisses them. Porthos barely lingers long enough to give D'Artagnan and Athos a parting nod before he's off. The tavern can wait for another night; Porthos wants out of these sodden clothes _now_.

Keeping his head down against the sheets of rain, Porthos doesn't see the other person until he's already shoulder-barged them off their feet. It is not, he swears to himself, his day. Knowing Porthos' luck, his victim is going to demand some sort of compensation. Or spend an age dressing him down at least.

Gritting his teeth in anticipation, Porthos leans down and offers the man his hand. It takes a while for him to notice - his eyes are shut and he is massaging his shoulder - but when he does, he accepts Porthos' hand with a grateful smile and allows the larger man to pull him to his feet.

"Terribly sorry about that," the man grins, brushing the mud off his clothes and chuckling ruefully at the state of his trousers. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I don't enjoy the rain at the best of times."

"N...not at all." Porthos manages, thrown by the stranger's willingness to accept all blame. He'd been expecting yelling, cursing, the odd punch maybe. Not smiles and laughter.

"Could I get you a drink to apologise? After you've changed, of course. My inn's not far from here and I'm sure we can persuade one of my shirts to fit you."

"I..."

"Please. I feel guilty enough as it is. If you say no, I'll be forced to spend the evening moping." The man leans forward, winking at Porthos conspiratorially. "And trust me, my friend...that's something no one wants to see."

"Alright then. That inn of yours better be close though." Porthos caves, unable to resist the man's earnest grin.

"Perfect! Now let's get moving - I don't know about you, but I've had quite enough of this rain already..." The man hurries off, still talking, forcing Porthos to lengthen his strides to keep up.

This is how Porthos du Vallon meets Rene d'Herblay.

* * *

The Sun is baking hot, burning the exposed skin on the back of Porthos' neck and making standing guard in his leathers almost intolerable. He catches himself wishing for the rain of last week and shakes himself, refocusing his attentions on the king.

Still alive. Still boasting loudly about his hunting prowess to his latest favourite. Still annoying.

To his left, D'Artagnan is humming tunelessly under his breath, gaze unfocused and staring off into the middle distance. To his right, Athos stands alert and tense, still ready for anything a full two hours after their guard began. Porthos' stomach rumbles; he'd do anything for a meat pie and some wine right now.

From his position, Porthos can see Treville and the Cardinal arguing about something. It's not obvious - neither man would make their dislike of one another so apparent in company - but there's a certain stiffness to Treville's posture and a certain twitch of the Cardinal's eyebrow that gives the pair away. Porthos wonders if they're still arguing about Dufort; the Cardinal remains convinced that the thief is responsible for the murder of a wealthy merchant, despite Treville's insistence that he can find no evidence to support such a thing.

Athos suspects that it's nothing more than the Cardinal trying to pin his own dirty dealings on someone else and Porthos is inclined to agree with him.

The king has just left the table to converse with the queen when it happens. A shot rings out and Louis' favoured noble of the week slumps forward onto his plate, knocking his goblet of wine flying. Red blooms across the tablecloth, more blood than wine, spreading further as the nearest serving girl screams.

Porthos jerks his head in the direction of the shot and sees a glint of metal in the trees, a hooded figure swinging down as he makes his escape. Instinct has Porthos running after him even before Athos' shout, legs pumping furiously as he pursues the assassin. By the time he reaches the treeline, he has pulled out far in front of Athos and D'Artagnan; Athos is no doubt suffering from last night's 'festivities', whilst D'Artagnan made the mistake of wearing his new, unbroken boots today. It would, perhaps, be wiser to hold back and wait for them.

But no one has ever called Porthos a wise man.

Delving through the bushes of the Royal Garden's miniature forest, Porthos loses sight of his prey for a moment, only to be forced to leap to the side as a dagger comes flying out of nowhere to sink itself deep into a tree directly behind him. If Porthos hadn't moved, it would have taken his ear clean off.

He doesn't have time to dwell on his luck as the assassin swings down from a branch overhead, feet neatly catching Porthos in the middle of his chest and sending him flying. Winded, he struggles to catch his breath as the assassin follows him down, throwing up an arm to prevent the downward slash of a blade meant for his throat. For a moment, metal touches skin as the assassin presses down, before Porthos bursts up with a roar and throws his attacker off.

Using his larger build as a weapon, Porthos slams the assassin to the ground and pins him there. The man bucks, twisting and writhing in a way that would have him loose were Porthos a smaller man. Porthos narrowly dodges a headbutt before he manages to transfer the man's wrists to one hand and use his left to hold his attacker's head down by the mouth.  He can hear Athos and D'Artagnan calling for him, voices muffled by the thick vegetation.

"Over 'ere!" He calls, smirking down at his prize. "I've caught myself a rat."

The man's eyes - the only feature visible in his face, his head so covered by his scarf and hood - narrow. It's the only warning Porthos receives before the man bites him, driving his teeth deep into Porthos' flesh and worrying at it like a dog. Despite himself, Porthos flinches back, and it's the only opportunity the other man needs. Before he realises what's happening, the assassin has jerked his legs free and kneed Porthos in the groin, rolling them over until he's on top.

Porthos curses and moves to rectify the situation, only to still at the dual sensation of a knife at his throat and a gun against his forehead. The man's eyes are hard as they stare down at him, no hint of remorse as he traces the line of Porthos' throat with his blade thoughtfully.

"Well? What are you waiting for then? _Finish it_ , if you're going to!" Porthos snarls, vibrating with the desire to show the other man who he's really playing with. He can hear Athos and D'Artagnan crashing through the undergrowth, voices raised and alarmed. They've clearly heard him and are rushing to his rescue; Porthos knows they're too late. One flick of his attacker's wrist and Porthos will be bleeding out onto the grass.

To his surprise, the man merely shakes his head, pulling the knife away although the gun remains pressed to Porthos' head.

"What? Scared of what the others would do to you? You're right to be - musketeers look after their own." Porthos taunts.

It's a mistake.

The man's eyes flash and the next thing Porthos knows there's a fiery line of agony across his belly, blood gushing forth as the assassin jerks his knife free.

The gun is removed from its threatening position, but Porthos can't do anything but watch as the man flees, sinking into the shadows even as Athos and D'Artagnan finally crash into the clearing. Porthos is dimly aware of being moved to rest in someone's lap, Athos' worried face swimming into view. D'Artagnan's voice is high pitched, panicked, clearly on the edge of breaking; thankfully it vanishes as Athos barks an order and D'Artagnan crashes back through the undergrowth.

"Stay with me, Porthos. Keep those eyes open." Athos orders. Porthos drifts, staring down at where his hands are pressed to his belly. They're so red.

"Porthos! Come on, man! God." Athos curses and Porthos is treated to the sensation of having his cheek slapped. "If you leave me alone with D'Artagnan I swear I'll bring you back and gut you myself."

Funnily enough, Porthos can picture that. Coming back to life in some arcane setting only to find a wrathful Athos coming at him with a knife. He chuckles, regretting the motion as it sends another hot flare of pain through him.

"That's it. Focus on my voice. D'Artagnan will be back with help soon. You won't die here, Porthos. I swear it."

This is how Porthos du Vallon meets The Hand of God.

**Author's Note:**

> Fancy following yet another multi-fandom blog? [Find me on Tumblr](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com).


End file.
